


A Very Sheriarty Christmas

by HalfAnachronism



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, M/M, don't blame me for the awful title okay I couldn't think of one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:06:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2814722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfAnachronism/pseuds/HalfAnachronism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock loves Christmas for some reason, Jim despises it, and Mycroft makes random literary references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Sheriarty Christmas

Christmas.

Jim’s least favorite holiday (next to all the other ones, of course) was inching toward him like a bloody zombie crawling on the ground towards its next unknowing victim. The sound of Christmas bells ringing made him sick, and all the dreadful Christmas music was sure to make his face become stuck in a cringe for the rest of his life. But, unfortunately, Jim’s boyfriend was oddly quite the fan of this disgusting holiday.

Sherlock didn’t seem to be the type of person who became ecstatic at the thought of idiots in costumes ringing plastic bells and collecting money for homophobic charities, but he could be caught mumbling along to Deck the Halls when it came on the radio. Jim would groan and say, “Jesus, someone either shoot me in the head or turn down that shit,” and Sherlock would smirk and they’d go about their business, talking about murder and other fun things like that. After all, being detectives, murder and despair were their business, but joy and giving were not.

But here Jim was, wrinkling his face up into a snarl as he stared, disgusted, into a store window. The air was bitterly cold, a crispy kind of cold that fills your soul, and he was surrounded by snow covered in the dirt of peoples’ shoes. He was looking in at a scarf, one that was blue and seemed to have a rough texture, and due to his boyfriend’s love of scarves, it may just be the perfect gift, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk into the store. Something in the back of his mind was warning him that that store would reek of hot cocoa and peppermint and the sounds of jinglebells and childrens’ laughter would be ringing throughout the entire place. But here was the perfect gift for Sherlock, sitting there for only six dollars and twenty-two cents, waiting for Jim to walk in, grab it, throw some money at the woman behind the counter wearing Christmas earrings and a jumper with a snowman on it.

Jim walked on.

He crumpled snow under his boots as he shuffled his way through the town, occasionally glimpsing into stores. _Maybe I’ll buy him a train set or a telescope,_ Jim thought mockingly as he pushed through the crowds of people all bundled up in brightly-colored, probably hand-knitted articles of clothing.

  


Jim hated Christmas, yet Sherlock was determined to get him a gift, and a good one at that.

He didn’t know what it was about Christmas, after all the music was simply awful, and the weather could be better, and the bells got on his nerves quickly, but he couldn’t help himself; he was excited. It made his boyfriend make disgusted noises, but it put him in an oddly cheerful mood. He wanted to push gifts into the hands of Lestrade and Anderson and Donovan and all of the others who made fun of him, because Sherlock Holmes may be a heartless bastard but that doesn’t mean he can’t make others happy. Think of all the murders he solved!

But, of course, Christmas also meant family time, and Sherlock was not too excited for that. This year his parents insisted that they meet Jim, because Mycroft had ratted to them that their little Sherly’s got himself a goldfish, and apparently that’s some sort of accomplishment or something. Jesus, even Sherlock’s _parents_ thought him to be a heartless bastard.

Well, he was going to show them. And how was he, the town genius, going to do this, you ask?

He was going to give Jim the best gift ever. Now, he did not know what that would be, after all Jim’s interests seemed to consist entirely of murder, graffiti, tea, apples, suits, and Sherlock, but he was going to find a way to get that man something that would make his heart grow three sizes too large.

 

 

“So we’re expected at Mum’s on Saturday.” Sherlock said disinterestedly.

“Lovely.” Jim replied, deadpan.

Sherlock was lying on their couch thinking, and Jim was sitting in the chair reading the newspaper. “Oh, and we’re expected to bring food.” Sherlock added.

“Then we’ll buy a cake that day.”

“Jim, I know you despise Christmas, but be civil around my parents. They are fragile, you know.”

“As long as they don’t knit me a jumper, I think we’ll be fine.”

Sherlock laughed. “Oh, and we’re giving gifts there, so tone down the amount of lingerie you intend on giving to me, won’t you, dear?”

Jim smirked, “Damn it, Sherlock, then I guess you’ll have no gift then!”

Sherlock sat up and said, “I should go shopping. Buying things for Mycroft and all that.” He rose and bent to kiss Jim before grabbing a jacket and running out the door. Then Jim was all alone, pondering what he should get Sherlock. It obviously had to be something appropriate, after all the Holmeses wouldn’t appreciate their darling boy’s first lover getting their darling boy a weapon or a dildo or something like that.

Maybe a record would do the trick. Something Mozart that they could ballroom dance to together in the living room, or to make up inappropriate words to. Or something punk rock to showcase how secretly rebellious Sherlock is. So many choices!

This holiday was going to be the end of Jim Moriarty.

  


Sherlock could buy Jim a suit, but Jim had thousands of those. Maybe he could draw Jim’s favorite fruit, the apple, on the side of a building with Jim’s name in a heart inside the core? He had no idea what he was going to do, and he needed help.

“Mycroft, I require your assistance.” Sherlock stated, plopping down in the armchair across from his brother’s.

“Sherlock? What the hell, how did you get into my house?” Mycroft exclaimed, looking behind him at the door to his mansion, which seemed to be just as locked as it was twenty minutes ago.

“I know all of your passwords, Mycroft, don’t act that surprised. Now, I need to find a gift for Jim and I have no idea what to do.”

“Aww, Sherlock wants to get his little Jimmy the perfect Christmas present. How very O. Henry-esque. What are you going to do, sell your hair?”

“Stop the year 9 English class story references, Mycroft. Christmas is upon us.”

“Well, I don’t know what your boyfriend wants. You’re the one dating him.”

“Well, what would you get Gareth?”

“Who the hell is Gareth?”

“Your boyfriend.”

“If you are referring to Lestrade, his name is Greg and he is not my boyfriend.”

“Shut up Mycroft. His name’s your wifi password.”

“It’s funny that you know that, considering you can never remember his first name.”

“Whatever, what are you getting him for Christmas?”

“I’m buying him a nice tie, but I won’t be able to give it to him until after Christmas due to the fact that he has an office party and I have to spend Christmas day with you, your love, and our parents.”

“Why don’t you go to the office party?”

“And allow Greg’s coworkers to see that he’s gay? Donovan would find a way to get him fired.” Mycroft stood to walk towards the kitchen. “As a late poet once said, ‘a boy who loves boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore.’”

“Richard Siken’s not dead, Mycroft, don’t call him _late_.”

“I do what I want.” Mycroft said, making tea.

“Whatever. Maybe I’ll buy Jim a bunch of awful Christmas jumpers.” Sherlock grinned mockingly.

“Have fun cleaning up the ashes from when he burns them.”

“Oh, I will.” Sherlock rose quickly and walked towards the door. “As always, nice chatting with you, Mycroft.” He then left, to search more for the perfect gift for his Jim.

  


There was a knock at John Watson’s door.

John opened the door to find a bored-looking Jim Moriarty outside. Jim pushed his way in and flung himself on a couch, putting his hands over his face in an exasperated position. “John, you know Sherlock well. What should I get him for Christmas?”

“Well, hello to you too Jim. I’m all right, how are you?”

Jim removed his hands from his face. “Ha ha ha, John Hamish Watson’s got a sense of humor. So very hilarious.”

“Wasn’t exactly meant to be hilarious,” John sat down in a chair. “And how do you know my middle name?”

“Through your best friend, whom I am attempting to buy a Christmas gift for.”

“Just get him a skull or something.” John leaned back in his chair as Jim sat up and faced him directly.

“John, I don’t think you understand. Christmas is the bane of my existence and I am expected to buy a present for Sherlock, which he will open in front of his family members. I am also expected to bring food, and you know very well that Sherlock and I are the worst cooks the world has ever faced.”

“I could get Mary to make a cake for you two to pretend you made.”

“That would be wonderful, but I still need a present.”

“He likes coats.”

“But he’s got thousands.” Jim whined.

“Well, I don’t know, get him a cat for all I care. You’re his boyfriend, Jim, figure it out.”

Jim groaned. “You are no help.” He rose and began walking towards the door. “I need that cake by Saturday.”

“You’re welcome.”

  


Hmm... Jim loved Quentin Tarantino movies, maybe Sherlock could get him one. No, wait, Jim already had all of them. Why was Christmas so very _difficult_?

“Sherlock!” Came a voice startling Sherlock from his movie-store musing.

Greg Lestrade strode up next to Sherlock. “How’s the Christmas shopping going?”

“Dreadfully. Every store reeks of coffee and candy canes.”

“Ah, yes, the smell of Christmas. What’re you getting Jim?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, and having you interrupt me is only slowing me down, George.”

“It’s _Greg_ , and why don’t you get him something that has to do with his favorite animal or something?”

“That’s completely.... wait a second.” Sherlock dashed away as Greg shrugged and began perusing the movies.

  


Jim was now back where he started, absentmindedly walking through the snow-ridden streets hoping that something would scream Sherlock’s name at him. But so far, he was having no luck.

It was getting later in the day and it was Thursday, which meant he had to either get a gift for his boyfriend that day or the next, but he hadn’t one idea of what to buy. Jim wanted to give Sherlock the world, after all he most definitely deserved it, but taking over the Earth for a Christmas gift didn’t seem too logical.

Then it hit him.

  


“Helllllo! You must be Jim! Come in, come in, Sherlock’s brother has told us so much about you!”

Both Sherlock and Jim cast angry and vengeful looks at Mycroft as they were ushered in by Sherlock’s mother. Mycroft was sitting at the kitchen table as Sherlock’s mother told Sherlock to set the cake on the table and Sherlock’s father stood to shake Jim’s hand.

“Hi, Jim, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Jim said awkwardly as Sherlock’s father shook his hand so hard it jerked his body around a bit.

Sherlock’s mother waved her hands in the air and said, “Come, let’s sit, the food’s all ready!”

They all sat down and began eating. Sherlock’s father attempted small talk, the usual things that none of the Holmes boys nor Jim could stand, how do you like the weather, any unusual murders lately, have you thought of buying a cat? Then, with Mycroft smiling evilly, the topic of the questions turned to Sherlock and Jim’s relationship: Jim, how are your parents? Do you have any siblings? How’d you two meet?

Then the time came, the time everyone had been dreading for at least a week: present time.

“So, Sherlock, what’d you get your Jim?” Sherlock’s mother asked.

Sherlock made a _shut-the-fuck-up-if-you-know-what’s-good-for-you_ face towards Mycroft, who, unbeknownst to their parents was smirking away at the awkwardness of the situation, and pulled out a thin box and handed it to Jim.

Jim opened the box to reveal two ties, both black, one with spiders on it and the other with spiderwebs on it. Jim gasped happily. “Sherlock, these are amazing!”

Sherlock blushed slightly and looked down. “Ah, well you do love spiders, it seemed to be the only logical thing.”

Sherlock’s parents went, “Awwwww,” as Mycroft the Cold Hearted tried to hold back his laughter.

“Now, for Jim’s gift to Sherlock,” Mycroft said.

“Ah, that.” Jim fished out a small box wrapped in red paper and handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock tore into the paper and found a small package that contained a inflatable globe.

“I wanted to get you the world, but world domination seemed a bit inconvenient, so I went for the next best thing.”

Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “Jim, you absolute weirdo.”

Jim shrugged. “I know.”

Christmas. It was still Jim’s least favorite holiday, and the music blasting on all radios during this time of year would forever make his ears bleed, but with Sherlock, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably going to rewrite this eventually.


End file.
